Rough waters, stormy skies, I saw her leave the gale,
Sails white against a copper sunset sky.
Alone in comical dress against the storm, I followed for a time;
She flagged, but did not come about,
Leaving just that glimpse, feeling oddly much, knowing nought.
So vast a sea, such encounters ought not repeat, yet I did not forget
For half a thousand days and oft, when storm clouds
Roiled in approaching skies, I would see her sails in the distance.
Following after, I might escape the storm,
But following from so far kept her always safely out of reach.
Then on a day becalmed, I drifted without care into a harbor
Her sails unexpected, bright, no wind in sight,
We sat at anchor drifting here and there, closer, farther
With the tide; I hailed her at last.
The breeze returned and, with unaccustomed finality, she sailed.
Then came the storm, so I understood why she had come
But why, then, had she left?
— Ron Risley – 2014-03-24